


The Witch's House (Diapercember Day 14)

by Acemindbreaker



Series: Human Familiars [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Bed-Wetting, Diapercember, Diapers, F/M, Familiars, Forced age regression, Forced infantilism, Mind Control, Wetting, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acemindbreaker/pseuds/Acemindbreaker
Summary: Kirsteen brings her new familiar home, and gives him some time to settle in. But Nestor's not giving in to the familiar bond without a fight. Even if part of him really wants to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be patient, this one's kind of a slow burn.

It was late when they arrived at Kirsteen's manor home. She smiled as she realized that Nestor had fallen asleep, just like a real toddler. It was a real shame to have to shake him awake because he was too heavy to carry inside.

She carried most of their luggage inside, though Nestor did make a couple trips before falling back to sleep on her couch. She prodded him awake and led him to the guest bedroom. It was too bad she didn't have his bedroom ready already, but she hadn't known what design he'd want. Her book on human familiars made it clear that they settled in best when their surroundings and accessories matched the nature of their servitude. Now that she knew he was a baby, she'd have to get him a bunch of baby things.

She wouldn't force him to use them, of course. The book didn't recommend that. Instead, she'd show each item to him as she got it, and let him decide when he wanted to use it.

  


The next morning, Nestor awoke staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, momentarily confused. Then he realized he was sucking on a pacifier, and the reality of his situation came rushing back.

He tried to remove the pacifier, but his hands refused to take it out. His stomach growled, and he suddenly realized his last meal was breakfast yesterday—but how could he eat, when he couldn't even take this pacifier from his mouth?

As soon as he sat up, his bladder, too, offered a complaint. He was struck with the sudden urge to just pee his pants, right where he sat, so he sprang to his feet and hurried out of the room, horrified with himself.

He found the bathroom down the hall and relieved himself, his mind racing. Was that just because he needed to pee so badly, or was it something more sinister? The first time he thought of sucking on the pacifier, he'd easily resisted the urge, and two days later he couldn't will himself to take it from his mouth. Whatever spell Mommy had done to him, it was clearly designed to turn him into a baby, and babies wet their diapers. What if it was going to make him need diapers like he needed his pacifier?

He'd fight it, he resolved. He'd fight every babyish thing this magic tried to make him do. He might lose the fight—let's face it, he probably would lose the fight—but he'd go down swinging.

And maybe it was just the pacifier. Maybe the spell just wanted him to suck on a pacifier and serve Mommy, and didn't want any other babyish behavior from him. He'd needed to pee really badly, it could have been sheer laziness that made him want to wet himself.

  


When Nestor emerged from the bathroom, he smelt a delicious smell, and followed it downstairs, his stomach growling. He found Mommy in the dining room, watching as an insubstantial, ghostly figure was dishing pancakes and bacon onto her plate.

“Oh, Nestor, are you hungry?” She asked. He nodded, sucking harder on his pacifier. “Give Mommy your paci, you can't suck on it and eat at the same time.”

He tried to take it out and hand it to her, but his hands refused to move. Seeming not even to notice his attempt, she reached over and popped it out of his mouth herself. Was that why Mirko had been able to take it from his mouth, then? It was designed to let someone else remove it, even though he couldn't?

Nestor slipped his thumb in his mouth and sat down as the ghostly figure set a plate before him. “Point to what you want, and it'll serve you.” Mommy said. “It cooks for me, too. Isn't it cool?”

He pointed out two pancakes, four strips of bacon, and a glass of orange juice, then guided the figure in covering his pancakes in syrup. Normally, he wouldn't like so much syrup, but he was craving sugar right now.

He pulled his thumb out of his mouth and started eating, occasionally glancing over at the pacifier lying next to Mommy's plate. He hated how unsettling it felt to not be sucking on that thing.

Distracted, he noticed too late that syrup was dripping on his shirt.

  


After his meal, Mommy tutted over the mess on his shirt as Nestor gratefully sucked on his pacifier once more. “You'll need to change. Do you want Mommy's help, or are you fine on your own?”

“I'm fine.” He mumbled, embarrassed at the thought of her helping him change.

“OK, well, I'll just come and make sure you know where I put your clothes. And I'll wait outside the room in case you need any help.” She said.

“I won't need help.” He protested, but he followed her to the room he'd woken up in.

“This is the guest room. I'm going to order some supplies for your room, to make you more comfortable, but you'll have to make do with this until they get here.” She said, heading over to a dresser. “I put your shirts here, your pants here, and your underpants here.”

When she opened the underwear drawer, Nestor noticed something odd, and came over for a closer look. “Oh, yes.” She patted the pile of folded white crinkly things—diapers, Nestor suddenly realized, and was horrified by the surge of longing that realization invoked. “I'm not going to pressure you into anything, Nestor, but as your soul adjusts to being my familiar, you'll find yourself wanting to do things to act out the role you've taken on. I want you to know that whatever you need from me as your Mommy, I'm willing to do it. If you need to wear diapers, if you need me to help you change your diapers, anything you need, I will provide. Wet wipes and baby powder are over here.”

Nestor just stared at the diapers in wordless horror. She patted him on the shoulder. “I'll give you some privacy. Just call if you need me to come back.”

Alone now, Nestor stared at the diapers, his mind a jumble. He definitely wanted to wear them, and wet them, and the thought utterly horrified him. It felt just like when he'd been longing to suck on the pacifier, which meant the end result would no doubt be the same. Fight as he might, he'd find himself wearing and wetting these diapers before too long.

He shook off his worries and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts instead, then closed the underwear drawer and fetched his shirt and pants from the other drawers. As he changed, he couldn't stop thinking about the diapers, wishing he was wearing one instead of his boxers.

  


He needed to get away from the temptation. He headed out of the room and was surprised to see Mommy standing there—he'd forgotten she was waiting for him.

“All done?” She smiled. “All right, Nestor, follow me.” They started heading down the hall. “I want to talk with you about what you need me to order. When I decided to get a familiar, I didn't know what kind I'd get, so I didn't get a lot of supplies.”

There was that word again. He'd been too distracted by the diapers to pay much attention earlier, but now, he wanted to know what she was talking about. “What's a familiar?” He said, pushing his pacifier to the side of his mouth to talk more clearly.

“Have you ever heard the stereotype about witches having black cats?” She asked. “A familiar is like a conduit, to amplify and direct a witch's power, and add their own power to their master's. Animals are traditional, but for my purposes, I need a human familiar.”

“Why me?” Nestor asked, following her into the living room. She sat at the computer and he took the couch.

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “I did the calling, and you were the one who answered the call. You chose a token—your pacifier—and it forged our bond.”

He wanted to pull it out and throw it in her face, but his hands refused to obey him.

“Now, my guess is that you don't know exactly what you will or won't end up needing, and you probably wouldn't tell me honestly if you did.” She said. “So, I'll just order some things, and see what you end up using. You may as well unpack your things, if you want something to do.”

  


Nestor took her suggestion and decided he may as well unpack. It was something to do, after all, and it might take his mind off of the diapers.

It would've gone better if unpacking his stuff didn't require spending time in his room, acutely aware of the dresser with the diapers in it right over there, he could easily just get up and go grab one, what was he waiting for? He had to fight, he told himself, but what was the point? He knew eventually he'd lose.

Mirko. Mirko was coming to save him. The more he fought, the less he'd have to deal with by the time Mirko came. And maybe if he fought every step of the way, it'd be easier to free him from Mommy's control.

'Mommy's control.' Nestor's blood ran cold as he realized he'd just thought of her as Mommy without correcting himself—had been thinking of her as Mommy all day without correcting himself. Not Mommy! She was the woman who cast a spell on him. The witch, she'd called herself a witch.

He had to keep fighting. He had to be vigilant. He'd slipped up there and not even realized it, who knows what else might slip by if he wasn't careful. He had to scrutinize his every thought, try to fight anything that came from Mommy's—the witch's—spell.

Suddenly, Nestor realized he needed to pee. He froze, suddenly hit by three warring impulses. The normal, adult one to go to the bathroom and relieve himself; the urge to just let go right now, give up on controlling his bladder and let it do whatever it wanted; and the urge to put on a diaper quickly so he didn't make a mess for Mommy.

This time, the normal adult option won out, and he managed to make himself get up and go to the bathroom, despite how wrong it felt. Holding it felt wrong. His boxers felt wrong. But he made it to the bathroom nonetheless. As he relieved himself, part of him started taking the wrong kind of pleasure in emptying his bladder, imagining that he couldn't stop, that he was peeing his diaper. He had to remind himself that he was in fact peeing into the toilet.


	2. Chapter 2

At lunchtime, Mommy asked him if he wanted to wear some napkins in case he dripped his food again. “I've got a bib on order for you, but until it arrives, it's the napkins or nothing.”

Nestor flushed. “I don't need a bib!” He protested around his pacifier.

“OK, then, but if you make a mess, you'll need to change again.” She warned. “Give me your pacifier.” She pulled it from his mouth as the ghostly figure served him a plate of fries covered in melted cheese and tomato sauce.

Nestor started out with the intention of being careful—it was embarrassing, having Mommy think he needed a bib—but without his pacifier, he found it hard to concentrate. Not having it in his mouth made him anxious and hypervigilant, and he hated that. He hated that he needed it, that he felt so wrong without it.

And then, midway through his meal, he felt the urge to pee. It was just slight, normally he'd have ignored it easily, but now it brought the urge to wet himself and a sick feeling of wrongness that he wasn't wearing diapers.

But he couldn't just get up in the middle of his meal to go to the bathroom. He'd never have done it normally, he knew he could hold it easily, his mind was just playing tricks on him. It would be embarrassing, Mommy would know it was because he wanted diapers. Besides, he needed his pacifier back—the thought of trying to leave the room without his pacifier horrified him. He should just finish quickly so he could get his pacifier back and go to the bathroom.

“Oh, dear, you made a mess again.” Mommy commented, and Nestor looked down at his shirt, chagrined. He wouldn't have this problem if he wasn't so distracted! It wasn't fair!

  


After lunch, Nestor gratefully put the pacifier back in his mouth, feeling the tension ebb away. He sat there for a moment, just overwhelmed by how much better he felt with the pacifier in his mouth, and then he remembered that he needed to pee. “I need to go.” He told Mommy, and left the room.

When he got to the bathroom door, though, he hesitated. He could just keep going a little further, and get a diaper. He didn't need to use the bathroom. Or he could just pee himself here—Mommy would understand, she'd know he was too little to control himself.

No! He wasn't little! He was a full-grown fucking man, and he was going to use the toilet to pee like any adult!

Nestor opened the door and headed in, but then he was hit with another problem. When he pulled out his dick and pointed it at the toilet, he was struck with the sudden fear that he'd aim wrong and make a mess. If he was going to use the potty, shouldn't he be sitting down?

He shook off the worry—he was a full-grown man, only little boys sat to pee!—and emptied his bladder standing up, despite the sense of wrongness he felt about it.

  


When he was done, Mommy was waiting for him. “Nestor, since you need to change anyway, I think you should wash up. Do you want a bath or shower? Do you want Mommy to help?”

“No! I'll wash myself.” Nestor said defensively.

Nestor took his clothes off and stepped into the shower, still sucking his pacifier. He thought briefly that he should probably set it aside—it felt odd to be still sucking it while he was washing—but he couldn't bear the thought of removing it, so instead he just turned the shower on.

Even though he knew damn well that he was empty, as soon as the water started, he felt like he needed to pee again. Nestor was tired of fighting, and it didn't matter anyway, so he let his bladder relax. And if a few dribbles came out as he was washing, no one could tell.

When he was done, he automatically looked for a diaper, before remembering with disappointment that he'd worn boxers. He put his boxers and pants on, then fetched a new shirt from his room and headed to the living room. He couldn't unpack any more—it was too close to the diapers. He needed something else to distract himself.

  


“Hey, Mommy, do you have a TV? I'd like to watch something.” Kirsteen looked up in surprise as Nestor came in, hair damp from the wash.

“I don't have a TV. Would you like me to order you one?” She asked. Nestor had a haggard, panicked look, but he nodded. “Hey, what's wrong, sweetie?”

He stared at her, sucking on his pacifier, then shook his head. “Nothing.” He headed to the couch and sat down, pulling his legs up and hugging himself.

“Hey, I know it's a tough adjustment, and you didn't want this.” She said. “But you'll like being my familiar, if you just give it a chance.”

“If I give it a chance?” Nestor exclaimed. “If I give it a chance, if I stop fighting for a moment, I'll lose myself completely!” The pacifier almost fell from his mouth as he shouted, and with a panicked look, he put it back in and sucked hard.

“Oh, sweetie.” She said. “Would you like a hug?” He shook his head, glaring at her. “OK. But you have to relax. You're changing whether you like it or not. Fighting it won't help, it'll just stress you out. Just accept it.”

  


He was never going to accept it. He would go down fighting every bit of the way, he'd promised himself that. But it was getting harder and harder to remember why. He could be sitting comfortably in a wet diaper right now, and it was hard to remember why that would be a bad thing.

And Mommy... It felt wrong to be mad at her, like he was being ungrateful or badly behaved. It was hard to remind himself that he had absolutely every reason to hate her, and no reason to feel guilty about it.

Nestor got through the rest of the day without wearing a diaper or wetting himself, or even sitting to pee, but it made him miserable to fight. Every time he felt the urge to pee, he had to fight a war within himself to make himself go to the bathroom, and the fight just kept getting harder.

By the time he finished supper and got ready for bed, he was exhausted. But when he lay down to try to sleep, in the dark with no distractions, the thought of his diapers came back in force. They were right over there. He could get up and put them on, then get back to bed. It would be just for tonight. He could get a decent night's sleep, and then he could go back to refusing to wear them tomorrow morning.

No, Nestor was no fool. No way could he wear diapers once and then stop. He couldn't give in at any step of the way. Instead, he resigned himself to lying there miserably, struggling to fall asleep.

  


He awoke in the middle of the night, needing to pee. He tried to get up, but his body refused to let him. He wasn't sure how much of it was the compulsion or just sheer exhaustion, but he couldn't get up. He even considered getting up to put a diaper on, but there his exhaustion definitely wasn't letting him.

Finally, he shifted position slightly and let go, only briefly. As soon as he felt the wetness in his boxers, panic jolted him fully awake and he clamped down the flow, scrambling up and running to the bathroom.

He made it to the toilet, but his boxers were wet. He knew he should change them, but if he opened the underwear drawer, he didn't know if he'd have the willpower not to grab a diaper instead—not with how tired he was. And besides, they weren't _that_ wet. He could change them in the morning, instead.

He returned to bed in his wet boxers, and lay down to try to sleep.

  


Several hours later, he was dimly aware of feeling the need to pee again. In his sleep-addled mind, he thought that since his boxers were already wet, it wouldn't make any difference if he peed again.

  


When Nestor awoke, his bladder was empty and a small wet patch marked his bed where he'd wet himself. His legs itched and his boxers were soaked and uncomfortable against his crotch.

He sat up, sucking his pacifier unconsciously as he pondered what to do. He needed new boxers, but what if he couldn't resist grabbing diapers instead? Or maybe he should just wear the diapers, if all his fighting wasn't enough to keep him from wetting his bed. No! That kind of thinking was a trap!

There was nothing for it. He had to get new boxers, which meant he had to get that drawer open and face the diapers. He'd just open it, grab the boxers and close it again, as quickly as possible.

But when he opened the drawer and reached for his boxers, he froze. He couldn't stop himself from slowly reaching over to touch the diapers, feeling the crinkly thickness. That would feel so good between his legs, so right. Why was he fighting so hard? Why not just put the diaper on, and let go?

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, to pull his hand away, grab a clean pair of boxers, and close the drawer. He felt like crying as he grabbed the rest of his clothes and headed to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed.

  


That breakfast, Nestor accepted Mommy's offer of napkins for a makeshift bib. He had bigger concerns, and he didn't want to risk having to change his clothes again.

The need to pee hit during the meal, again, but he clawed it back, forcing himself to wait until he was done eating and went to the bathroom.

This time, though, his hands refused to undo his fly. He stood there for several minutes, warring with competing urges—go to his room and get a diaper! Wet his pants! Sit down to pee!—before deciding that the least humiliating option was to pull his pants down, put the seat back down, and pee sitting down. He hated conceding even this much, but if he'd stayed there much longer, he feared his bladder would have made the choice for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Afterward, he sat unhappily in the living room, still fighting the urge to go and get himself a diaper, until Mommy finally spoke. “Honey, come here. I need your help with something.”

Nestor got up and headed over obediently. “What?”

“I wanted to wait until you were more settled in, but my wards are starting to crumble. I need your help.” She took his hands. “This will make you very tired, especially since you're not used to it. I know you didn't sleep well last night, and I'm sorry to do this to you, but someone is trying to scry me, and I need the wards at full strength before they succeed.”

“What's scrying?” Nestor asked.

“Looking for someone with magic.” She replied. “Whoever it is probably only has an animal familiar, so I can easily stop them if I use our bond to help.”

  


Nestor wanted more than anything to refuse. If she could be believed, if he could sabotage this, someone would find them here, maybe save him. Mirko had said he knew a witch who might be able to help with the pacifier—maybe it was Mirko's witch who was doing this!

But he made no protest, no move to interfere. When she got him to sit on the hardwood floor, he fought to stand back up, but his body remained where she'd directed him. When she started to draw elaborate sigils all around him, he screamed at himself to reach out and smudge one of them, but his hands refused to move.

She worked for several hours, and all that time, he fought to do something, anything, to stop her spell. Finally, he felt a twinge in his bladder, and an idea popped into his head. Maybe he could wet himself, and it would spread and smudge the sigils. He'd been having so much trouble _not_ wetting himself, it should be easy to do the reverse, right?

But now that he actually wanted to, his bladder refused to relax. He tried to shift position, to make it easier to pee, but he still couldn't move, and he couldn't pee.

  


Finally, Kirsteen finished and sat cross-legged in front of him, touching the index fingers of both hands to the sides of the pacifier in his mouth, and started chanting. Nestor's eyes rolled back in his head, his pensive look relaxing into calm as his power flowed through the conduit, pulsing with each suck on his pacifier. The power flooded into her, more power than she was expecting—Nestor must've been a potential witch himself, though he had no way of knowing it.

Now, as her familiar, that power was hers, and she shaped it with her will, sending it to the lodestones she'd laid out as conduits around her home. For a moment, it fought her, and she had to wrestle it into place, holding it still until with a feeling of sudden rightness, it clicked into place.

Her crumbling, damaged wards were washed away by the flood of power as the new wards came online, and she could vaguely feel the other witch suffering a backlash as the scrying spell failed. Served them right! Kirsteen only wished she'd had the time to prepare something truly nasty to send her enemy's way, but Nestor was too inexperienced. It would take months before they could truly work as a team, instead of her just drawing out his power and shaping it herself.

  


When Kirsteen put her hands on his pacifier and started chanting, Nestor's mind grew blurry. He could dimly feel something flowing through him, being tugged out of him and shaped, but his mind could not make sense of it. Dimly, he remembered his plan to wet himself to damage the sigils, and fought to do it, but he couldn't even feel his body now, much less control it.

And then, he came back to himself with a disorienting lurch, and he was exhausted and dazed, but in control. Hoping he wasn't too late, he let go with all he had in him, and felt his crotch grow wet.

“We did it!” Mommy said. “Rest now, sweetie.”

Disappointment flooded through him. Part of him felt that he should stop peeing, but he couldn't will himself to claw back control now. He had failed. Mirko would never find him now.

He was dimly aware of insubstantial, buzzing hands touching him as he lost consciousness.

  


Nestor wet himself and then fell asleep as soon as the spell had finished, which didn't surprise Kirsteen at all—when she'd checked his bed earlier, she'd found the wet spot he'd left during the night. He was being stubborn, but it wouldn't be long until he was willingly wearing and using his diapers all the time.

For now, his bed was still being washed, which gave Kirsteen a problem. She didn't want to put him to sleep in a wet bed, but the only clean bed she had handy was her own, and she really didn't want him peeing in her bed.

So, she directed her constructs to lay him out in the bathtub and strip him naked, then wash him off. By the time they were done, she'd fetched him a diaper from the guest room. She put it on him, then directed the constructs to carry him to her bed to sleep off the spell.

  


Several hours later, Nestor awoke exhausted and needing to pee. He got up, momentarily confused as he realized he was in Mommy's room, and headed to the bathroom. He sat down, then stopped in surprise when he felt crinkly softness instead of the cold hard toilet seat.

He was wearing a diaper!

Horror, excitement, relief and shame flooded through him in a dizzying confusion. He wanted to take it off so he could pee. No, he needed to keep wearing it. He needed to pee in his diaper. He couldn't pee in his diaper.

He warred with himself for a long time. He tried to get his hands to the tabs of his diaper, to peel them back and get it off, but instead his hands went to his crotch, feeling the bulk there, pressing it against his junk. It should be wet, it would feel better if it was wet, he thought, and his willpower broke. He bore down and began to flood his diaper, the feeling filling him with joy and well-being.

When he was done, he came back to his senses and was suddenly disgusted with himself. He sprang to his feet, undid the diaper and left it on the bathroom floor, fleeing the bathroom naked and heading back to his room. Luckily, he didn't run into Mommy along the way.

In his room, he opened his underwear drawer and tried to grab a new pair of boxers, but instead, his hand was drawn to the diapers. Slowly, unable to stop himself, he removed a diaper from the pile and began to unwrap it.

He'd have put it on right then and there, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, but he suddenly realized he didn't actually know how to put on a diaper. It shouldn't be too complicated, he reasoned, he could figure it out. But the roadblock was enough for him to remember why he didn't want to wear a diaper, to force himself to set it down on his bedside table and grab a pair of boxers instead. He dressed as quickly as he could and fled, mercifully diaperless for now.

  


Mommy was in the living room. “Did you have a good rest, honey?”

Nestor didn't answer, sitting on the couch and yawning. His whole body felt achey, like he was recovering from the flu. He shifted to recline against the couch, exhausted.

“You should eat something. You slept through lunch, and you need to regain your strength.” She said, and reached for his pacifier. He pulled away, shaking his head and whining. He did not have the energy to deal with this now.

“OK, you can rest now, but I will want you to eat in a little bit.” She patted his butt and he flushed. “You took your diaper off? Did you wet it? Where did you put it?”

He didn't answer, just sucking harder on his pacifier. “All right. I'll leave you be.”

  


A couple hours later, Nestor felt the urge to poop. His first instinct was to just poop his pants where he lay, and his blood ran cold at the thought. He forced himself to get up and hurry to the bathroom. He hesitated at the doorway, feeling like he didn't belong in there, but forced himself to enter anyway.

As he pooped in the toilet, he worried. It wasn't nearly as hard to fight the urge as it was to not wet himself—not yet, at least. But Nestor hadn't even considered how this compulsion would affect his bowel habits. The fact that he felt any desire to poop his pants meant that he was headed in that direction. Soon, he wouldn't use the bathroom for anything but bathing.

He finished, fought the urge to go to his room and get his diaper on, and headed out to the living room to lie back down on the couch.

By suppertime, the exhausted, achey feeling was starting to fade a little. Mommy insisted he eat, and Nestor accepted the napkin-bib, only caring about getting this over with, getting his pacifier back, and going to bed.

He fought the urge to wet himself through most of his supper. When he got to the bathroom afterwards, he stopped in front of the door, struggling to force himself to open the door and go inside. He sat down on the toilet with his pants still on by mistake, and had to fight both his bladder and his mind to pull them down before he started peeing. Finally, though, he peed in the toilet, then washed his hands and brushed his teeth.

When he got to his room, Mommy was there.

  


“Nestor, I know I said it'd be your choice, but since you wet your bed last night, I have to insist you wear this to bed tonight.” She said, holding up the diaper he'd taken out.

Nestor froze. She knew! Well, of course she did, he could see that his sheets had been changed, and he knew he'd forgotten to do it.

He wanted to go to bed diaperless, one last time. No, he didn't. He longed for the diaper so much. And anyway, he couldn't disobey Mommy, she'd be mad.

Reluctantly, he nodded and took the diaper from her.

“Do you want to put it on, or do you want Mommy to help?” She asked.

“I'll do it.” He said, undoing his pants.

“Do you know what to do?”

He shook his head.

“I'll talk you through it.” She offered.

It turned out to be easier than he thought, although the angle was a bit awkward. Soon, Nestor was wearing a diaper, and the feeling of _rightness_ made him feel sick. He hesitated, wondering if he should put his pants on, but he normally slept in his boxers, so he'd just sleep in his diaper tonight.

“Do I have to wear it tomorrow?” He asked as he sat on his bed, his hand wandering to massage the padding against his crotch. He cringed at the thought of her seeing that gesture, but he couldn't seem to stop.

“During the day? Only if you want to.” She said. “We'll reassess next bedtime.”

With that, she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, then left.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite himself, he slept fairly well. He woke up the next morning needing to pee, and without thinking, he immediately shifted position slightly and wet himself lying down.

Disgusted with himself, he sat up and tried to will himself to take the diaper off, but unlike before, when the wetting immediately made the compulsion let go, this time it still held firm. He found himself reaching down to massage his diaper, pressing the wet material against his junk, feeling equal parts joy and disgust at the sensation. Wearing a wet diaper felt safe, it felt so right. How could it feel so right and be so wrong?

Finally, he got up and headed to the pack of wet wipes on the dresser. He undid his diaper and used them to wipe himself clean, cringing at the urine caught in his pubic hairs.

He finished and opened the underwear drawer. For a long moment, he fought with himself, struggling as hard as he could to grab a pair of boxers, but his hand went to the diapers instead. He pulled one out and felt it, spreading it out. And this time, he knew how to put a diaper on, so there was nothing to stop him, no moment's hesitation in which he could wrestle back control. He didn't stop until he was diapered.

Part of him tried to make him take it off again, but he knew it was hopeless. So instead, he pulled his pants on over his diapers, just barely able to do them up, and then put his shirt on and headed out for breakfast.

  


As Kirsteen took his pacifier and put the napkins in place, she wondered if Nestor had finally given in and worn diapers, so she reached down to pat his butt. Her hand met padding, and she smiled. “So, you decided to go with the diapers during the day, too, then?” She commented. Nestor just sucked his thumb harder and glared at her.

She wondered if it was the same one he'd worn to bed, and if he'd wet himself, peed in the toilet, or was still holding, but she didn't expect he'd be willing to give her an answer. She could probably force it out anyway, but why bother?

Instead, she served him tea with his breakfast, on the thought that if he needed to pee more often, he might be able to adjust more quickly to using his diapers and stop stressing out about it so much. It seemed like he was fighting every inch, every tiny little step towards being the person his familiar bond wanted him to be, and it was exhausting him. Especially after she'd used him to make the wards, she really wanted him to take a break.

Maybe she could talk to him about it. If she could convince him that his fight truly was futile, that all he was doing was causing himself unnecessary stress, maybe he'd listen and stop fighting.

  


After breakfast, Mommy gave him back his pacifier, and Nestor hurried off to the bathroom. He stopped in front of the door, struggling to will himself to reach down and turn the knob, but instead, his hand headed to his crotch. He massaged the diaper against his junk as he fought with himself and lost, his bladder releasing into the thirsty padding.

As with this morning, the compulsion didn't stop once he was wet. He stood there, frozen, as he massaged the wet diaper. He didn't want to take it off. He wanted to feel the wet padding against him for longer.

He headed to his room and sat on his bed, fighting with himself. Just undo the taps and get it off! Why did he need to sit there massaging it against his junk? Was he trying to masturbate?

With that thought, he suddenly realized that he hadn't had a hard-on in awhile. The last time was... morning wood in the hotel, the morning after he'd taken the pacifier to bed with him. It felt so long ago, though Nestor knew it was only a few days. Only a few days, and he'd gone from a hard-working man who partied hard to a man massaging his wet diaper and sucking on a pacifier.

And he hadn't had an erection since. Even needing to pee had only gotten him half-hard, though admittedly the intensity of the urge was less since he'd been going to the bathroom more often. And Mommy was pretty, but he hadn't once thought of her in a sexual way.

Babies didn't have sexual feelings, though, did they? Was he losing that, too? Nestor thought of the last woman he'd taken to bed, a few days before he'd taken the pacifier from Mommy's room. He could remember what they did, he could remember that he'd enjoyed it, but thinking back now, none of that stuff seemed appealing. It seemed gross and pointless. Why would he stick his dick in her pussy? Why would he have licked it afterwards until she came, too? It just seemed so disgusting.

He was horrified to realize that, while he was thinking of sex as disgusting, he was still massaging his wet diaper against his crotch. And although he knew it should, the thought of his wet diaper no longer disgusted him—not nearly as much as the thought of sex.

With that thought, he finally wrestled enough control to undo the diaper tabs and take it off. Leaving it on the ground, he opened the underwear drawer and automatically pulled out a new diaper to put on.

  


He headed to the living room, and Mommy was there, sitting on the couch. “Finally. I was wondering what took you so long.” She said, and he blinked at her. Right. He must have spent ages playing with his diaper, hadn't he?

“I need to talk to you, sweetie. Come, sit beside me.” She patted the seat.

He didn't want to, but he couldn't disobey her, so he sat.

“I want you to tell me why you're fighting this change so hard.” She said.

No! He couldn't tell her! He shook his head.

“Are you thinking if you fight it every step of the way, it'll change you less?” She asked. “Because the bond will change you as much as it sees fit, no matter how hard you fight.”

Disappointment filled Nestor at her words, but no, even if he could only slow it down and not change the end result, he'd still fight. For Mirko, so Mirko might find him still holding on to a shred of self.

“Or are you hoping for someone to rescue you?” She asked. “That man who'd tried to lead you out of the inn, perhaps?”

He froze, and she chuckled.

“Why did you think I left him alive? I could have just as easily told him to stab himself, instead of drinking himself to a stupor.” Mommy said, and Nestor's blood ran cold at the thought. “But no, I didn't need to kill him. You see, once a familiar bond is formed, it can never be broken. To break it would destroy the familiar, unless they found a new master as soon as possible.”

No! “You're lying!” Nestor burst out.

“I'm telling you the truth, sweetie.” She said. “Look, it doesn't really matter to me if you fight your bond. I know you'll succumb eventually, and you know it too. But I hate to see you so stressed out. You're not sleeping well, you're fighting a battle of wills every time you need to pee—it's wearing you out, and that's not good for you. Just take a break, please? Relax, even if only for a short while. I assure you, you won't be any worse off if you stop fighting. And you can always fight the change some more later, if you need to.”

  


Mommy left him to mull over her words as she did something on the computer. Part of him really did want to give in and stop fighting the changes he was going through. He was so exhausted, and it felt so futile. If she was to be believed, it really was futile.

But if he did stand a chance of being freed, she certainly wouldn't admit it. She'd stand to benefit from getting him to waste what chance he had.

Just then, he felt the need to pee. Every instinct screamed at him to just let go where he was, he was wearing his diaper after all. Why would he bother going to the bathroom, when he could go right here?

It took all of his willpower to stand up, but then instead of going to the bathroom, he found himself standing still, massaging his diaper with one hand. Mommy looked over at him curiously and he blushed, wishing he wasn't doing this in front of her, but he couldn't make himself move. He fought the urge as long as he could, but soon he was wetting his diaper in full view of her, massaging it against his crotch as he did. The feeling of the release, the dampness against his junk, all of it filled him with an overwhelming joy, and he forgot everything else for a moment in his joy.

Then he was done. Part of him wanted to go and change immediately, but another part wanted him to stay in his wet diaper for a bit, to enjoy it.

“Good job wetting your diaper, Nestor.” Mommy said. Pleasure flooded through him, followed quickly by disgust at how much he liked being praised by her, and embarrassment at the show he'd just put on for her—was still putting on, since he was still massaging his diaper. He abruptly pulled his hand away and sat down.

“Do you need Mommy's help to change?” She asked, coming closer. He shook his head. “Are you wanting to sit in it for awhile, then?” He didn't answer, blushing. “That's OK, but try to change before you wet again. These cheap drugstore diapers can't really handle more than one wetting.”

With her suggestion, he managed to get up and head back to his bedroom. He undid his diaper and opened the underwear drawer.

He tried once again to grab his boxers, but his hand went to a new diaper instead. With a sudden burst of insight, he grabbed both—a diaper in one hand, his boxers in the other. He closed the drawer and set the boxers aside, putting on the new diaper while promising himself that next time he changed, he wouldn't open the underwear drawer. That way, he'd have no choice but to wear the boxers. And if he was wearing boxers, he'd have to make himself go to the toilet.

When he was finished, he felt a fleeting urge to go out without pants, or maybe find some clothes that made his diapers more obvious, but he managed to push it away and pull his pants up. He barely even spared a moment's concern for how worrying that urge was—all he could think of was his plan.


	5. Chapter 5

Nestor had lunch soon afterward. This morning, during breakfast, he'd fought the urge to wet himself and made it until he'd gone to the bathroom before getting stopped at the bathroom door, unable to will himself to actually go inside. This time, he made it until she gave his pacifier back. In the rush of joy at sucking it again, he lost the will to fight briefly and was soon soaking his diaper—without massaging it with his hand, for once.

Indeed, he managed to keep his hands off of his diaper altogether until he'd made it to his room. Then, when he tried to go for the tabs, he ended up holding the crotch of his diaper with both hands, playing with it for awhile, until his bladder let go of the little bit he'd been holding without realizing.

Finally, he was able to undo the tabs and get the diaper off, but then he froze. He had to get the underwear drawer open, to grab a new diaper. No, he didn't, he'd been planning on wearing boxers. But he couldn't wear boxers, babies wore diapers! He'd make a mess for Mommy! He didn't care if he made a mess for Mommy, he was _going to wear boxers!_

And with that, he finally forced himself to put the boxers on, pull his pants on over top, and flee the room.

  


In the living room, sitting on the couch, he was acutely aware of the feeling of wrongness. He was supposed to have a nice, comforting padding between his legs, not this thin, flimsy cloth. It made him feel unsteady and anxious, almost like when Mommy took his pacifier so he could eat.

He knew he should feel proud of himself—honestly, he was surprised that he'd managed to fight it well enough to wear boxers again, he'd thought he was too far gone for that. He should be amazed and impressed, but instead he felt guilty, scared and wrong.

And the feeling only got worse when, a couple hours later, he needed to pee again. Panic flooded through him. He was going to wet himself, and make Mommy mad! He needed to get his diaper on, as soon as possible!

He sprang to his feet and ran. Briefly, he tried to stop at the bathroom, to make himself go in and use the toilet, but he was running too fast. Before he could manage to stop, he was at the door of his room, already heading inside.

He went to the underwear drawer, then froze. Fighting with all his willpower, he turned and headed to the door, but he couldn't bring himself to go back out. He was stuck, and finally, the part of him that wanted to pee whenever and wherever he felt the urge finally won, and he found himself soaking his pants, crying in defeat.

  


Kirsteen saw Nestor go running out of the living room, and followed more slowly. When he finally broke down and started crying, she opened the door to his room. “Oh, sweetie.” She said, as he sobbed and sucked on his pacifier, his pants soaked. “Did you have an accident?”

Nestor nodded unhappily.

“Were you trying to go without diapers, but you couldn't hold it?” She asked.

“I couldn't go into the bathroom!” He burst out. “It wouldn't let me!”

“Oh, sweetie, I know. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” She held out a hand to him, and he flinched back.

“Don't act so sympathetic! This is your fault! You did this to me!” He burst out.

“I didn't make you wet your pants.” She said. “I gave you diapers, you chose not to wear them. Now, come. You're going to have a bath.”

  


Mommy let him take his bath alone, but once he was clean, he left the bathroom to find her waiting in the hallway with a clean diaper. “I think it's time to set a rule.” She said. “No more boxers. You have to wear diapers at all times, now.”

Nestor wanted to scream protests, to throw a fit and adamantly refuse to obey her, but he wanted the diaper more. He glared at her as he grabbed it and headed to his room.

He fought the urge to put it on, but he knew that it was futile. He felt a rush of relief and joy when the diaper was in place, and he couldn't stop himself from touching it a bit, even though it was still dry. He yanked his hand away as Mommy came in.

“I'm just coming to take away your boxers.” She said. “You don't need them anymore, after all.”

“No!” He protested, reaching towards her as she opened the underwear drawer, but she stopped him with a look. “Please, don't take them away. I need them.”

“You really don't.” She said. “You wear diapers now. You need diapers, or else you'll wet your pants.”

“Please. Don't take them away.” As long as he had boxers, he could try to make himself wear them instead. He could have a chance, however slim, of fighting the urge to wear diapers.

“No.” She bundled them up and left the room, and Nestor broke down crying once again.

  


A couple hours later, when she called him out for supper, he came out sullen and quiet, emotionally exhausted. He ate and drank his food, and when he felt the urge to wet himself halfway through, he didn't have the energy to fight it. He shifted position and tried to let go, but it didn't come at first, so he slipped a hand down to massage his crotch until he was able to pee. As he was wetting himself, he saw Mommy's knowing look and blushed, looking away.

After his meal, she followed him to his room. “I can do it myself.” He protested.

“I know. I'm just going to make sure you listen to Mommy's rules and put a new diaper on instead of trying to go without.” She replied.

He glared at her as he grabbed his new diaper. As if he could help it! As if he didn't long for the ability to say 'fuck no, I'm not doing any of this' and leave. He was distracted briefly by how weird it felt to think of a swear word. It was like trying to swear in a foreign language. He was losing that, too.

But now, he had his diaper on, and the satisfaction of it distracted him from that realization. Mommy smiled at him, and he fought the urge to smile back as she walked out. He lay down on his bed, feeling his diaper, and for a brief moment, he let go and enjoyed it.


End file.
